


Blaine Anderson Loses at Everything

by CloverINK90



Category: Glee
Genre: Dalton Academy, Dynamic Duets, Episode: s04e04 The Break Up, Fix-It, Gen, Glee - Freeform, Not Blaine Friendly, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly, Not Klaine Friendly, The Warblers - Freeform, William McKinley High School, new directions - Freeform, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5018506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloverINK90/pseuds/CloverINK90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a re-telling of Season 4 up through “Dynamic Duets” that is mostly canon-compliant time-wise with the exception of Sam’s macaroni portraits. That is from late in the season, in “Guilty Pleasures” I believe, but I’ve obviously moved it up. The Sadie Hawkins dance and the Men of McKinley calendar (from “Naked”) get earlier mentions as well.</p>
<p>This is how I wish the beginning of Season 4 would have unfolded and I think I present Sam and Tina as more consistent with their S2 personalities.</p>
<p>This story is extremely Blaine unfriendly as well as being canon Blam and canon Blina unfriendly. It is, however, completely from Blaine’s point-of-view.</p>
<p>And a special thank you to deliriumbubbles for effortlessly coming up with the perfect title (Blainerdämmerung was the best I could come with on my own.)</p>
<p>More Notes at the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blaine Anderson Loses at Everything

Crouching in front of his locker Blaine didn’t know how it had come to this.

He’d already removed the pictures and collages of Kurt and placed them behind protective sheets in the blank photo display portfolio and now was looking at what was left. And what was missing.

No photo of his victory in the Senior Class President election. He’d had a very specific plan for his last year at McKinley. Winning the election had been the very first item on the list. But he had lost to Tina.

Blaine didn’t really _get_ Tina. And he thought he had. Even when she decided to oppose him in the election. It had made sense, he hadn’t at the time seen it as a rivalry. She was only doing it so there were two people actually running. Otherwise it would only be him running unopposed. The presidency would basically be handed to him and that wasn’t right. He wanted to win on merit, to have to put in some effort. He always did, like when he had given the clearly superior performance in his West Side Story audition. _That_ hadn’t just been handed to him.

* * *

 

Standing in the choir room,

“I, Tina. Cohen-Chang. Have an announcement to make.

“To honor the democratic tradition of our country, I have decided to join Blaine in the race for McKinley High Senior Class President. Well, I guess I should say, _oppose_ Blaine since he is currently running unopposed.”

Brittany had a confused look on her face.

“But I’m Senior Class President. For Life. Like President Sudoku in Indonesia, or Dick Cheney.“

Blaine gently chided her, “Brittany we’re a democracy we elect presidents every four years.”

“Of course we do Blaine Warbler. But we all know we’re just waiting for the next Bush brother, or maybe Hillary or Chelsea, to move into the White House.”

“Ahem,” Tina cleared her throat. Listening to Brittany was fascinating. Had anyone determined for certain if Brittany was an idiot savant or just an idiot? But they needed to get back on topic.

“As I was saying, I am running for Class President. I think, like Brittany pointed out during her campaign last year, that we need the perspective of a female, especially when we see boys walking down the halls wearing t-shirts that say “”Bad Girls Suck. Good Girls Swallow.”

“I have a lot of ideas to redress the sexist culture in this school but I am also going to emphasize something that is gender neutral and that Kurt made the center of his campaign last year. The rampant bullying here at McKinley and the refusal of the administration to do anything about it.

“Kurt Hummel,” Tina added, “for the new faces here who might not have known him.”

“Trainee Barista whose iced lattes were _always_ too cold,” the newest mean girl cheerleader stage whispered. Kitty something.

* * *

 

As Blaine thought back, another person he’d misread was Sam Evans. Actually, no. Sam’s responses to Blaine were consistent and impossible to misinterpret. That was the problem.

Right from the start of the school year Blaine had wanted to get closer to Sam. Just as bros of course. But Sam wasn’t interested.

When Tina had first said that she was “joining Blaine” in the election campaign, before correcting herself with the word ‘opposing,” he’d thought she’d meant some sort of  Vice-Presidential partnership. And that had given him in idea.

* * *

 

“Hey Sam! Wait up, I wanna proposition um, make you a proposition,” Blaine called out, as Sam exited the choir room.

Blaine always seemed to have to seek Sam out when he wanted to talk to him. He only really saw him either at Glee practice and in the locker room. The latter wasn’t bad of course. But uncomfortable. He really did wish that Sam had been serious that one time he had snapped at him in the locker room: Blaine would have loved to “take a picture.” Multiple pictures in fact. Because, yeah, they really would have “lasted longer.”

“Yeah, Blaine?”

“Well, um, when Tina mentioned “joining me” in the election it made me think she meant being vice-president in my campaign. Don’t you think it would be great to do running mates: we’d be able to reach and appeal to twice as many different types of students.

“So what do you say? I’d love to have you as my running mate Sam.”

“But there’s never been a Senior Class Vice President. It really makes no sense.”

“But like I said Sam, you’d be able to appeal to students I can’t. With your…uh…assets, I bet every straight girl will be voting for us.”

“Oh.” Sam’s eyes darkened. “Didn’t we go through this last year Blaine? I don’t want to be harsh here but weren’t you all self-righteous and right up in my face, about me “selling myself?”

“Do you want me to strip at the debates? So now it’s fine to "use my assets” to help you win an election but when I was stripping to earn money my family desperately needed you slut shamed me.

“No thanks Blaine.”

* * *

 

And that was Senior Class President Trainwreck Extravaganza Part One, Blaine thought to himself.

Part Two had come right after the debate. Well the debate itself was pretty bad. Blaine had been happy for Tina to go first. Actually he would have begged if necessary because he hadn’t really prepared a speech. When he remembered he’d have to actually say something he realized that he didn’t really have a platform. He had to admit that he had just seen himself winning. Because, well, who wouldn’t vote for him? (Well, apparently Sam wouldn’t.)

So he sat, listening to Tina talk about the offensive t-shirt slogans and that even though _she truly believed in expressing yourself through clothing choices, she was friends with Kurt Hummel after all, and even now she had chucked all the pilgrim collars and was testing out Steam Punk fashion….._

Blaine had tuned Tina out at some point because the next thing he realized that the room was silent. Mercifully she’d finally finished, but he did manage to catch her last words: “I’m not calling for a dress code but…”

And that gave him an idea.

“My friend Tina said a lot of things in her, um, comprehensive speech, and I agree with almost all of them. In fact, if I had spoken first, you probably would have heard _me_ saying nearly the same as what I support as a candidate.”

There. That was good. All he had to do is be the good guy, agree with things that he hadn’t thought of himself, and it sounded like it was his unluckiness: not being able to speak first, that kept Tina’s platform from coming out of his mouth.

But, there needed to be something to separate them as candidates. Thinking on his feet, Blaine said, “There is one thing though that I disagree with Tina one hundred per cent; we should not be stifling our freedom of expression when as teenagers we already are limited by our school, by our parents. No matter how Tina put it, she is calling for a dress code and obviously, as someone with my own sense of fash–, er style….well, look at what I’m wearing, I would hate to see everyone in uniforms.

“And make no mistake, it’s a slippery slope, banning clothes, banning….um,” he scrambled to come up with something else, “hair gel!”

“Telling anyone what they can or can’t put in their hair is disgusting. It’s tyranny, my friends. Next thing you know, they’ll start burning books. And then they’ll probably start burning people, too.”

There. That was a good finish. And the hair gel was genius because it was an issue that he sincerely had a passion for. He thought back to how _his_ prom had been ruined.

Yeah, a good finish. Until a furious Ms. Pillsbury pulled him into her office.

* * *

 

“Banning hair gel leads to books being burned and: People. Being. Burned.” Emma Pillsbury had a hard look on her face. And she looked like Blaine should know exactly what he had done wrong and what he was supposed to say.

Blaine didn’t know Ms. Pillsbury did pissed. Usually you had to guess what she was feeling by how long she had been cleaning her desk and how many anti-bacterial wet wipes were in her trash can.

At Blaine’s continued blank look she said: “Heinrich Heine.”

Huh? Who was that? All he could think of was Heineken but she couldn’t be talking about beer could she? The name sounded German. But he didn’t know German. He took French and Italian when he was at Dalton. (He’d continued with French at the joke of a class at McKinley.)

“Judging by your silence, you have no idea who I’m talking about.”

Blaine nodded.

“I would have expected more from Dalton Academy’s instructors. Or perhaps they did include Heine’s quote in their European history lessons but you forgot everything else.”

Blaine was totally confused.

Emma sighed, and continued. “I’m not going to tell you what to do Blaine but you’re already Jacob ben Israel’s latest blog villain. You might want to read his post explaining in painstaking outraged detail why the mostly apathetic seniors shouldn’t vote for you because you compared hair gel to Nazi death camps. Didn’t sound like he was faking his outrage either. You may need to grovel before your fellow seniors.”

Ms. Pillsbury ended their meeting with, “Bottom line, Blaine; it really was insulting how you trivialized Heine’s words for something as ridiculous as hair gel.”

And that was how Blaine Anderson found himself losing the Senior Class Presidency.

* * *

 

Without the presidency to take up his time, and because the school musical auditions were a couple of weeks away, Blaine decided on an idea that might bring him and Sam closer. That had gone down like an anvil dropping out of the sky on Wile E. Coyote.

He had spent a fair amount of time at the Hudmel-Evans home and he knew Sam’s level of geekitude. After all, Sam had snorted when the new cheerleader, Kitty, had called Joe “avatar.” And he’d heard that Sam had even spoken to Quinn in that Avatar language when they were dating. So perhaps this would work.

“A superhero sidekicks cub? I don’t know Blaine, it sounds interesting but what looks good in cartoons and comics doesn’t translate to live action. Remember the episode of Smallville with Saturn Girl, Lightning Lad, and Cosmic Boy, they wore mostly subdued clothing, much different from their canon costumes—at Blaine’s blank look—hello Legion of Superheroes?

“Okay, different example: it’s like Wolverine: nobody can rock yellow spandex, everybody would be trying to picture Richard Simmons with retractable claws. Hugh Jackman would have looked ridiculous.

“And c’mon, _Kitten Boy_? With the shaved legs and green pixie boots? Blaine, you’re not some smooth twink like Kurt. I really think you should go with your second idea, the Nightwing rip-off: Nightbird you said, right? Just don’t use Dick’s first costume—actually, on second thought, it might work on you since it’s so over-the-top with the disco collar.”

Blaine thought to himself, “smooth twink,” where would Sam pick up a description like that?

* * *

* * *

 

“Well, Blaine thought to himself, still looking at the interior of his locker, “at least I had Glee at that point. And Grease.”

That was the next item on his Senior Year list: the school musical. With the same directors as the previous year, Coach Beiste, Ms. Pillsbury, and Artie. Even with that run-in with Ms. Pillsbury Blaine was sure he had a lock on the lead role.

Sure he was distracted by the thing with Kurt, but Blaine figured he could use it as part of his audition. Artie was of course recording everything, and Blaine could send it to Kurt.

He was always better with showing his feelings in song and performing and Kurt would appreciate his success just like he did the year before when he presented Blaine, he winced remembering, _in public_ the bouquet of flowers.

The best song, he decided, to convey his feelings was “Hopelessly Devoted to You.”

When he stated to the judges the song he was going to use for his audition he was rattled a bit when Artie said, “Are you sure you want to perform that Blaine?

“The West Side Story auditions for Tony were hardly smooth and one of the issues was because Kurt chose a song originally sung by a woman. You were smarter because you picked a Tony song—even though that wasn’t the role you were auditioning for. And you did a perfectly serviceable performance as Tony. So why sing one of Sandy’s songs?”

Artie describing his performance as only “serviceable” rattled Blaine some more. But he got through his audition and then stood on the stage, looking hopefully at the judges. Finally Artie looked up. “Uh, thank you Blaine. Would you send the next person in?”

* * *

And then he had screwed up with Sam. Again. And Sam had slammed the brakes on any sort of Blam, as Blaine was calling it in his head, relationship, or even friendship.

“Sam, I know you need money so I’d like to give you this, fifty bucks should help right? And it’s not a loan, just take it.,” Blaine said, as he approached Sam in the McKinley hallway, holding out his hand with a single crisp bank note with President Ulysses S. Grant’s portrait visible.

“Dude, what are _doing_?” Sam hissed as he grabbed Blaine and pulled him around the corner where there were fewer students.

“Well, I know you need money for food and so—“

“ _Excuse_ me? Do you think Carole and Burt are starving me?”

“Well, I guess they would be feeding you. But what about, I saw you grabbing a bulk bag of macaroni out of the school kitchen!”

“That bag of macaroni was stale, somehow it didn’t get used right away and had been in storage for over a year. They were going to throw it out. Marley’s mom let me have it so I could use it in one of my hobbies.

Blaine gave him a blank look.

“Macaroni portraits dude. Yeah, I know it might seem a little strange but I like the way they turn out. I’m really proud of the one I did of Kurt.

“And what? Are you stalking me now? That was well after classes were out for the day.”

“Could I see that one?” Blaine asked. “The one of Kurt.”

Sam made a quick glance toward the ceiling, as if he were calling on heavenly help in dealing once again with a Blaine Anderson who refused to leave him alone.

And who still hadn’t gotten the memo that Sam was not interested. In anything. With Blaine. Especially now that he knew what Blaine had done to Kurt.

“Blaine. You know Finn is not going to let you in the house if he answers the door instead of Burt. And I don’t like you “dropping by” either since there’s no real reason for you to be there anyway. I know that Kurt asked us not to tell Burt the real reason for the break-up but the last time you were over it seemed like you were trying to get all buddy-buddy with him. I mean, are you thinking of using Mr. Hummel to get to Kurt? How’s that supposed to work? If you do want Kurt back you have to communicate with _Kurt_ , not try to use Mr. Hummel to manipulate him.

“So I really don’t see….you know, just no. The portrait of Kurt is not for sale either. And I can’t see what you’d do with it. Hang it on your bedroom wall?”

Sam took a deep breath after delivering what had turned into almost a mini-speech.

Blaine looked like he had gotten lost somewhere halfway through Sam’s speech and was still trying to catch up.

“Anyway, put that fifty dollar bill away. You really do do all your grand gestures in public. But thanks for not trying to open my jeans and stick the money in my briefs.”

And with that Sam turned and walked away.

* * *

 

As Blaine continued his musings at his locker, he remembered that Sam had been absolutely right about Finn. Kurt’s step-brother had left the loft that morning after Callbacks before Blaine had woken up but he certainly had let him know in no uncertain terms how he felt about the incident with Eli after they were both back in Lima.

“How could you do that to him?”

That was harder question than it probably should be for me, Blaine thought to himself. It might have been easier if Finn had just beat the crap out of me and then it would have been over. And we all could have moved on. Oh how he wanted to get past this.

But no. Now every session of Glee was like when he had first transferred to McKinley the previous fall. Once again he couldn’t even give constructive criticism, like when Finn just strolled into the room and announced “we’re doing Gangnam Style.”

Glee would have been impossible if everyone knew about his indiscretion. None of the next generation kids knew and neither did Artie—for some reason Kurt had been adamant about that.

And Mr. Schue either. Their teacher made sure to entangle himself in the teenagers’ business far too much as it was. Luckily he was gone for an indefinite period, chasing some naïve idea that sitting on a blue ribbon commission in D.C. was going to accomplish anything for anyone. It looked like his performance in the social studies department was going to match his stellar run as a Spanish instructor.

* * *

At this point Blaine had slid down with his back against the lockers next to him. Earlier, his knees had begun hurting and he realized that he didn’t have to crouch in front of his locker in order to stare off into space.

So where was he in his personal retelling of his senior year thus far? Right. The arctic freeze that was the Glee choir room. With the occasional non-sequitur by Brittany…

 

“…I’m really worried about my dolphin being stuck in an oil slick.”

Wait. Was that some sort of crack about him gelling his hair? He’d had it with all this passive-aggressiveness.

He turned to Brittany and snapped, “I suppose you’re going to say next that the oil slick was raspberry scented.”

Brittany smiled innocently at him. “That would be just plain _weird_. Are you feeling all right? You might want to see the school nurse or talk to Ms. Pillsbury. _I_ was talking about a report I’m doing on that oil rig explosion. Did you know there are nine different species of dolphin in the Gulf of Mexico? But I bet there’s a lot more than nine in New York City, don’t you think?”

* * *

 

“Oh, Boo-Hoo, get over it, it’s like a bad Lifetime movie.”

His treatment at the hands of another one of Kurt’s “Swans” was more blunt than with Brittany. If it hadn’t been personal when Tina opposed him for class president, it certainly was now.

“To you my fellow Glee Club members,” Tina looked over at her audience, “I’d like to preview two of my plans as Senior Class President.

“For the viewing pleasure of us ladies, and I’m sure more than a few boys as well, there will be a Studs of McKinley 2013 Calendar.”

Thinking back to freshman year and Principal Figgins and his views on “appropriate” costumes, songs about balloons and clowns, and vampires, Tina continued.

“I think we should try to push the limits. I’m seeing abs, pecs, glutes, arms, all bare.

“And if the guy can pull it off, speedos would be a great clothing choice. I know I’d help pull the speedos off of at least three or four members of the swim team.”

Tina paused, it wasn’t totally acting when she fanned herself a little.

“Lauren Zizes will be in charge of the project. The only requirement I’m giving her is,” there was no mistaking that she turned to look directly at Blaine, “no photoshopping allowed.”

Blaine didn’t even have time to decide what kind of return stare to give Tina because she immediately dropped the cruelest bombshell possible with her second item.

“And as a fun thing for everybody at school to enjoy—even though the guys might be a little uncomfortable with the preliminaries—I’d also like to announce McKinley High’s first Sadie Hawkins dance! “

* * *

 

As Glee Club broke up for the day, Blaine was able to grab Tina’s attention and, before he even thought how to express his feelings, he blurted out, “how could you do that to me?”

Tina stared at him as blankly as Brittany usually did.

“What are you talking about Blaine?”

“What you did back there.”

Blaine was visibly trembling but he’d proved to have a hair trigger in the past so she wasn’t sure if he was going to break down emotionally or break something physically.

“Okay Blaine, I know the photoshopping comment was a bit of a cheap shot but Kurt talks to me. I _know_ that if you’re going to attempt the smooth-chested and smooth belly high school stud look it’s either Photoshop or a mammoth waxing session.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean the dance. The Sadie Hawkins dance.”

“Well Blaine, I guess you’ll just have to deal with the potential embarrassment of turning a girl down. What’s the big deal? You turned Rachel down easily enough, in public.”

Blaine stared. Did she really think that it wasn’t blindingly obvious what she was doing to him? “I don’t mean that. I mean, _Sadie Hawkins_ , the theme of the dance.”

“Yeah? I don’t get what’s bugging you so much.”

“Tina, you _know_. The reason I transferred to Dalton. The Sadie Hawkins dance at my old school. When me and the boy I asked to the dance got the crap beat out of us by a group of homophobic assholes.”

Blaine could see understanding dawn in Tina’s eyes. “Oh. That’s right. I’m sorry Blaine, really, that wasn’t my intent in the slightest. That hadn’t even occurred to me.”

Hadn’t even occurred to her? “I just can’t believe that you’d forget something like that.”

“Blaine. I think the reason why I forgot about it was because _you_ had dealt with it, you’d already worked through it completely.”

“Huh?”

“You formed Dalton’s Fight Club, and you really are in good shape. Plus, you went to Kurt’s Junior Prom and performed there as well. I mean, there were obviously a lot of homophobic jerks just waiting for Kurt to be announced Prom Queen. And you were comfortable dancing with him in front of all of them.

“And then there are the very public performances that you’ve given: the “GAP Attack” Kurt told me all about, and then “Somewhere Only We Know” when Kurt transferred back to McKinley.

“Blaine, even if it had occurred to me, I probably wouldn’t even had thought to ask you about it because like I said, I thought you had left that horrible incident behind long ago.”

* * *

 

As he sat on the hallway floor, Blaine’s mind wandered back to his accomplishments lists:

It had made perfect sense to transfer to McKinley the year before. He had traded singing in nursing homes for:   

  * Male lead in the school musical.
  * Lead Male Actor in the Christmas Special television broadcast.
  * Sectionals, Regionals, _and Nationals_ in show choir competition.



 

And _all_ of that in Junior year. Plus, the courses were ridiculously simple so a perfect grade point average required very little of him. Oh, and plus there was Kurt.

And now? What did he have on his list?

Senior year:

  * nothing
  * nothing
  * and probably nothing in show choir with Finn in charge.



 

And that wasn’t even counting the personal animosity toward him by every one of Kurt’s friends. Even if, miraculously, Finn was able to get them through Sectionals, Blaine didn’t see a performance solo coming his way.

It would be a risk. A different school each of his four years in high school.

If he didn’t care beyond being a legacy admission at his dad’s alma mater it wouldn’t matter. The acceptance letter would be guaranteed no matter what he decided: McKinley or Dalton.

But if he wanted performing arts. If he wanted NYADA he’d need to risk it. He needed a full resume for his senior year. And Blaine had an idea just how to spin it.

* * *

 

Blaine looked at the opposite wall from where he was sitting. The school musical, Grease, being advertised on a poster that should have been torn down already. It had been a triple threat of mediocrity: lousy singing, dancing, and acting. He was glad that he had had no involvement with it.

Dalton didn’t do its school musical until the spring. A joint production with Crawford County Day School. He didn’t remember a production of Grease in recent memory. They could put it on. Put it on well, and because McKinley had done it, there would be comparisons by the reviewers, and Dalton would come out the winner. And, by implication, validate as very smart in the eyes of NYADA his decision to leave McKinley.

Blaine now knew the New Directions inside and out. And now there was a new captain of the Warblers. Hunter Clarington. From his visit to Dalton, Blaine could tell that he was built almost as nicely as Sam. Hunter had already advanced the Warblers’ moves far beyond when “Candles” had sunk them. He really should have known that Kurt’s voice wasn’t meant for a performance duet. He and Hunter would get them through Sectionals and, with a little more work, Regionals as well before landing them a Nationals win for Blaine. And that, again, would validate his decision to transfer mid-semester senior year.

* * *

 

Blaine pushed himself to his feet before once again looking inside at what remained in his locker. The outdated textbooks that he’d hardly even opened much less read. The custodial staff could deal with them. There was one smaller book, a paperback that Blaine recognized as something his father had given him. It was a very interesting story, he needed to finish reading it.

He grabbed the copy of “Atlas Shrugged” by Ayn Rand and tossed it into his messenger bag. He straightened up, grabbed his bag, and walked out of McKinley High School. There was nothing left for him there.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> The original title was a spoof of two works:
> 
> Friedrich Nietzsche’s “Götzen-Dämmerung” (Twilight of the Idols),
> 
> Richard Wagner’s “Götterdämmerung” (Twilight of the Gods).
> 
> The picture of Nightwing wearing his “disco collar” costume is from here: the entire post is worth reading!
> 
> http://fyeahdickgrayson.tumblr.com/post/1563066588/the-many-costumes-of-dick-grayson


End file.
